


The Dangerous Type

by roseofgalaxies (callmelyss)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cemetery, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femlux, Magic, Mild Spookiness, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Piercings, Outdoor Sex, Rule 63, Sex Magic, Vaginal Fingering, Witches, magic sex, mild manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/pseuds/roseofgalaxies
Summary: It isn't ideal—normally, she would go in the early morning when it was quiet, and the sky was brightening above her, the first rays of sunlight dispersing any lingering spirits. She could find the best site and draw the sigils in the dewy grass and sing the proper chants. Hang a bag of witch's balm on a nearby branch, innocuous and ignored, when she had completed her work. Be gone before the groundskeeper finished his first cup of coffee. The symbols would fade to nothing as the dawn broke, no one the wiser to her presence.—Hux has a plan and a purpose, neither of which include Kylo Ren or sex in a cemetery.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 34
Kudos: 95
Collections: Huxloween 2019





	The Dangerous Type

**Author's Note:**

> A belated bit of Huxloween fic! For the prompt "witches." 
> 
> With thanks to [Ezlebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe) for the excellent inspiration.
> 
> Art commissioned from the amazingly talented [@elvisclt](https://twitter.com/elvisclt). 
> 
> Some elaboration on the tags in the end notes. As always, feel free to get in touch with questions.

Hux goes to the cemetery near sundown.

It isn't ideal—normally, she would go in the early morning when it was quiet, and the sky was brightening above her, the first rays of sunlight dispersing any lingering spirits. She could find the best site and draw the sigils in the dewy grass and sing the proper chants. Hang a bag of witch's balm on a nearby branch, innocuous and ignored, when she had completed her work. Be gone before the groundskeeper finished his first cup of coffee. The symbols would fade to nothing as the dawn broke, no one the wiser to her presence.

Her dowsing stone jerks and twists on the end of its string, urging her on now. The dreams have come this past week, dreams of grave dirt showering down on her, collecting, gritty, in her mouth and nose, the corners of her eyes. Above: the sound of a shovel striking earth. Teeth chattering near her ear. After she clawed her way awake for three nights straight, she drew the cards and tossed the charred bones and read the spiderwebs in the garden, all of them saying the same. The timing is critical. And so today, she twirled her pendant over the city map and packed her kit in her bag and went. Never mind the time, an hour before the gates closed, or the chilled wind, snatching the leaves from the trees. Never mind the pricking between her shoulder blades, or the way the fine hairs on her arms and nape have lifted, or the gooseflesh crawling over her skin. Never mind. She won't miss her chance.

Hux leaves her bike by the cemetery gate, murmurs a short cantrip at the chain—a reminder that it's not to open until she says. 

This is one of the oldest of the city's cemeteries but it isn't well-maintained, sitting on the corner of three poor neighborhoods, not yet up-and-coming. The grass has overgrown many of the graves near the chainlink fence, and more than a few of the stones are close to crumbling, some crooked, others tipped over completely. Hux drags a thumb over one death's head, its eye sockets furry with moss, the granite wet underneath. She stoops to pluck a bunch of Lady Death and adds it to her bag. It isn't what she needs, why she's here, but it is useful.

The pendulum leads her along the winding path to the center of the cemetery and a broken headstone. The other telltale signs are there: the ground soft and swollen, mounded, as though waterlogged, the grass quite dead, nearly blackened, surrounding it. No sweet scent of rot, however—this is an old burial, and the thing scrabbling for the surface is certainly little more than bones and clinging, leathered skin by now. Hux crouches, her boots skidding in the damp blades, and lays a hand on the earth. Closes her eyes. They're there, faint, but present, distant vibrations, what may be the sound of scratching, if she pressed her ear to the ground.

She bites her lip against the surge of victory, stymying the small shriek that nearly escapes. No, no celebrating yet. She hasn't succeeded.

She etches the warding circle meticulously—_perfectly_—and steps inside, turning three times. Jabs her thumb with the pocketknife she uses only for blood offerings and says the words of supplication, then protection. Holds a piece of gauze over the wound as she recites the spell, the one that will allow her to collect this rare element, _dirt from the grave of the restless dead_. In her other hand: the vial to which she'll call it. 

She never thought—had hoped, of course, and looked for signs these last few years—but here it was, at last, and if this worked, if, she would be that much closer to her goal. 

The light's coming streaky, red through the trees as she chants, and the boughs rattle in the wind, and for once, Hux allows her eyes to fall shut as she completes the spell, letting the sensation of her magic simply wash through her. When she's finished, she breathes deep the October air and waits.

And waits.

She opens one eye, then the other.

Nothing feels different. The vial dangles, empty, from her fingers. Nothing _happened_.

Hux repeats the words, clearing her mind and concentrating on her intention, as she was taught. Feels her own power surge, answering her. Calls to the earth, summoning it to her hand, binding it to her purpose. Except it remains inert.

She worries her lower lip, steps away from the grave, and digs through her bag for her notebook. Perches on a nearby headstone—intact—and flips through the pages until she finds the correct one. The dreams were the second sign, after the haloed gibbous moon last week. And her dowsing led her here. It was the _right grave_, unmistakably disturbed, and she could _feel_ it, if she reached, the thing groping upward, still well short of the surface. (Six feet is no small amount of earth.) Her pronunciation was correct, the elements, too. It should have worked, by all measures. 

It hadn't. But why? Hux fiddles with her pocketknife and lets her heels bang against the stone, the words and dates and fond sentiments too blurred to read. _Beloved wife and mother_, perhaps. The sun's lolling around the horizon. She needs to be gone, and soon. Not that she's afraid. But. She's alone, and this may have attracted unwelcome notice, the smell of her blood on the green, the tang of magic in the air.

"Having trouble?"

Hux swings the blade in the direction of the voice without thinking. It won't do much damage, but if she hits soft tissue, she'll have time to throw a hex and run—

The tip of the knife freezes an inch or so from Kylo Ren's long nose, as though it's struck an unseen barrier. The air between them wavers, and Ren raises both eyebrows, unperturbed. Her lips, full and red, curve upward. "Hello to you, too, precious," she says.

Hux jerks her arm back with some effort, grits her teeth, huffing when she finally pulls free. "Don't call me that," she replies, automatic, and slides her knife back in her bag. "What are you doing here, Ren?" 

"Ouch." She raises both hands in mock surrender. Her nails catch the dying light. Bloody. "Maybe I was just passing by. And wanted to help an old friend?" 

She scoffs. _Old friend, not bloody likely_. Maybe when they first met, when Ren had another name and was still a gawky teenager, and they whispered secrets, promises, dreams of power through the garden fence, overgrown with ivy. But not for years, not since. Now Ren is only another witch, from a rival coven no less. "Right. Well. Your help isn't needed, thank you."

"No?" She takes a step closer, leaning on the headstone where Hux is sitting. "But you're here all by yourself. And—" She glances across to the disrupted gravesite, the sigils in the grass. "Performing some sort of spell. Or trying."

It's impossible not to bristle at her tone, that familiar superiority, and her knowing smile and the cloud of her perfume, heady and expensive, enveloping them both. Hux's temples throb; she leans away, grimacing. "It's none of your concern."

She can't keep Ren from inspecting her handiwork, however. She steps over the grave, moving smoothly despite the unnecessarily high heels and clinging dress, hugging every lovely line of her. She could play the part of an affluent mourner, but then Hux might, too, all in black. Not premeditated so much as habit, but it might buy her extra time.

If she can get rid of the witch crouched over her wards.

"Did you deconsecrate this first?" Ren asks. 

"Of course, I did," Hux snaps. "I'm not an amateur." Typical of Ren to assume no one else knows what they're doing, that just because she's a natural-born witch from an old family that someone couldn't manage with hard work and devoted study—

"Easy there, kitten." She waves off Hux's repeated _don't call me that_. "I'm only trying to figure out what went wrong." She kneels. Traces one of Hux's crescents. Murmurs: "You did always draw the best lines." More to herself than Hux.

She shivers. Not at the compliment, only because it's getting dark, the temperature dropping, and if she loses the light, that's the end of it. But she still doesn't know why her incantation failed, and Ren's here, mucking everything up as usual. She doesn’t have time to correct it. Won’t. "Shit. It's too late," she moans. There's nothing to do but banish the spirit and cleanse the site. She'll have to try again elsewhere. She's had setbacks before and will have others. It isn't important. Hux can be patient. Will be.

Ren tilts her head, regarding her, still kneeling, heedless of grass stains or the mud on her nice shoes. "It may not be. What's so important? What are you after here, Hux?"

She gnaws her lower lip. If Ren knew, but no, she can't risk it. Remembering herself, Hux lifts her chin. "That isn't your business."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Some of her usual temper flaring, Ren starts to stand, then she stills. Runs a hand over the grass again, lips moving, eyelids drooping until she sits up straight, staring. "This is for—you did it. You found the spell. You're really going to do it."

It had been foolish, of course, to ever confide in Ren or in anyone, but she was young and too pleased at the idea of having a confidante, a partner, and didn't understand yet. Didn't know that others could not be relied upon, and she was better off taking care of herself. Ren had gone the opposite way, spouting gibberish about covens and masters and the true path to power, but Hux knew better. Knows better. She crosses her arms and looks away from Ren's bright-eyed astonishment. "Yes, well. It's taken some time." Years, yes, of poring over old texts, vellum, and parchment and some materials best left unidentified. The inks toxic. The languages long forgotten.

"You're going to invoke Starkiller," Ren breathes.

Hux sniffs. "That's not the most accurate translation of its name."

"Still. Life and death." 

The oldest, elemental magic. "One life and one death," Hux acknowledges. "Specifically." _Her life, his death_, as it should have been. Balance, she thought. And the power in _her_ hands, Hux’s, if only this once. "But without this piece, it's worthless."

"Come here," Ren says.

For once, Hux doesn't argue; she goes and kneels, the ground cold through her skirt. Allows Ren to take both her hands and press them, palms down, against the grass. 

"Feel that?"

_No_, Hux wants to snarl, and _enough of your feelings_, the intuitions and telepathy and everything that seemed hers innately, gifted by the cosmos and her birthright. But something _shifts_ under the cover of Ren's hands, and Hux can feel it, the strands of power running through the grave, like glittering strands buried in the clotted dirt.

"See? You didn't need to deconsecrate the grave," Ren murmurs. 

"Because someone already had," Hux agrees. "Someone else has done magic here." She looks sharply at Ren.

She squeezes Hux's hands. "Not us." Not the Order of Ren or whatever they were calling themselves these days. Not their mysterious mentor— "No, this is old. Very old." She hums. "Still strong, though."

It's true. Hux reaches out, trying to unravel the spell with a charm of her own, but the threads re-knit themselves as quickly as she breaks them apart. “Fuck." She punches the ground weakly. No way she can undo this on her own, not in time.

Ren sits back on her heels. She tucks her dark hair behind her ears, not meeting Hux’s eyes. "You know, I could."

"Oh, fine," she spits, impatient. "Go ahead."

She folds her arms over her chest. Affects a pout. "I think you should ask. Nicely."

"Bloody—" Hux lets out a breath through her nose. She doesn't have the luxury of pride, not just now. "Will you help me? I could use the assistance." She sighs again at Ren's expression, then sags a little. It has been exhausting, this search, so much time she's devoted, only to fall short here. "Please, Ren. You know what this means to me. Please."

For a moment, she thinks Ren must be toying with her, as she used to, and despair, not annoyance, descends. She's going to fail, and it could be years before she gets another chance. It's not as though these conditions happen all the time, the planetary alignment and the phase of the moon and the Draconids and an agitated soul. Hux's shoulders droop. 

Then Ren's hands cover hers, pushing power into them, warm and rich and almost more than she can handle at once. That raw, indomitable magic that she associates most with Ren. But she can, yes, translate it into the spell, the dismantling charm, and does, reshaping that amber energy into what she needs as quickly as Ren lends it to her. It's been years since she did magic with Ren—or with anyone, in fact—and she had forgotten the exhilaration of it, how her power answers Ren's and brightens for her presence, how they wind together, as easily as though they had never parted. It's quick work now, the unweaving, and she chases the last tendrils of the old incantation wriggling away into the soil, away from them. Banished. Hux lets out one giddy laugh, despite herself.

When she looks up, Ren is smiling at her, although she dips her chin again when Hux meets her gaze. "Your spell," she says. "The binding."

She doesn't need the help for this part, not especially, but she's glad when Ren keeps her hands where they are, when she feels that particular quality of her magic, not only golden and glowing, as it had been when they met, but opaque and ferric, too, like a slit throat under a new moon. And her own, somewhere between the two, growth and decay and the smell of crushed petals and rain. Hux dares a glance at Ren, the high color on her cheeks, the familiar lines of her face and throat, the dark fall of her hair. Almost forgets, before she squeezes her eyes shut and begins to chant. Surprised when Ren joins in after the first refrain, echoing her. And then: the sense of something building, cresting, the air around them charged, her hair lifting from her shoulders, skirt buffeted as though by the wind, and she, Hux, is both architect and conduit. 

Light flares, bright and molten under their hands, and Hux nearly falls backward, surprised by the rush of power. Drops of water are rising from the grass all around them, reflecting the last of the sunset, poppy and saffron and ochre. But she can feel it, too: it worked. It's hers, this piece of earth, to do with what she will. Hux has to hold her wrist steady with her other hand as she gathers what she needs into the vial, taking care not to drop it or the stopper. She clutches it in her fist for a moment, confirming, yes, it's really there. She really did it. 

They did.

When she's stowed it, carefully, in her bag, she drops her hand back to the grave. She can clearly see now, the desperate soul trying to dig her way through the earth, struggling for open air, for the world above. Not only restless, but hungry, and, in being so, hazardous. She mutters a quick incantation, simpler than the others, in essence: _be still now, love_. _Sleep._

And all goes quiet.

Ren's brow is furrowed when she’s finished. "You didn't need to do that. Lay her to rest."

Hux shrugs. "She served her purpose. No need for her to suffer further." She strokes the grass. Still brown. It'll be some time before anything grows here. "And it's tidier this way."

"Tidier," Ren repeats, mouth tilting.

_Not that you'd know anything about that._ Ren's magic has always tended towards the ostentatious side of things. But after three incantations, none of them minor, and the remnants still tingling in her fingertips, like pins-and-needles, Hux is too tired to bait her. "Thank you," she says instead. "For your help." 

"I do know what it means to you." Her voice is quiet. And there is, yes, something of the Ren she once knew in those wide, earnest eyes. 

Neither of them moves, still kneeling together on the chilly earth, scant distance between them, Ren's bare knee a handspan from her own, the split in her skirt flaring wide up her thigh. Hux reaches out to touch her cheek, finding the shadow of a mole concealed by her make-up. "You don't need to cover these," she chides.

It feels expected somehow, inevitable, that Ren kisses her.

This isn't the familiar, stolen kisses from before, furtive and clumsy and sweet, her fingers hooked over Ren's ear. No, this is different, something purposeful, firm about how Ren cups the back of her neck and draws her in, her other hand in her hair, and in the insistent way that she presses her lips to Hux's, as though she has a right to this. And Kylo Ren has grown _bossy_, she understands all at once, annoyed and amused and—she moans quietly, ceding to her, opening to the first swipes of Ren's tongue. Not overwhelming, not too much, but not timid, not at all, kissing her open-mouthed, starved, breathless.

She's gone nearly dizzy by the time Ren releases her. Is still trembling with the aftereffects of the magic, jolts like static electricity shooting through her. "Ren," she says, blinking, unsure what should follow. It is properly twilight now, although the cemetery feels not at all threatening for that fact. Not with her here. But the groundskeeper should be chasing them off, should have done by now. "Wait. _Ren_. What did you do?"

Ren shrugs. "He won't remember." She scowls at Hux's expression, the effect diminished by her smudged lipstick. "I didn't _hurt_ him. He's safe at home by now, I'm sure." 

"Why did you come here?" Hux asks, wary. "Did Sno—?"

Ren hushes her with a finger pressed to her lips. "Better not to say his name if you don't want his attention. And no. I felt a. A compulsion. I've been having dreams again."

_What sort of dreams?_ she doesn't wonder. With Ren, there had only ever been one kind. "And they led you here."

"Yes, Hux, I promise." She looks on the verge of a sulk. “And I helped, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Always so fucking suspicious. Not everyone is out to get you, you know. Just because your fath—"

"All _right_, Ren." Hux plucks a blade of grass. "You helped. I'm grateful. What do you want exactly?"

It's like a switch is thrown, as it always is with Ren, or the pendulum swinging the other side, sharp, sometimes without reason, and she's pushing close to her again, nearly on top of her, her hands on Hux's hips, warm through her skirt. "I want you," she murmurs, lips brushing her earlobe. "Can I have you?"

"May I," Hux corrects, despite her tripping pulse. "And _here_?" 

"Mhm." She plants a wet kiss on her neck, then another, where Hux's cardigan has slipped from her shoulder. "There's some cover behind the mausoleum, if you prefer."

It's a terrible idea, of course. They could get caught, and even if they don't, there's no telling what Ren might be up to, or what getting entangled with her, however briefly, might mean. Not that it was like this. This Ren with her tight clothes and razor shoes. 

It's a _terrible _idea. 

Ren's nose is cold against the hinge of her jaw. Her hands haven't moved, not groping, only cradling her. "Please, Hux? I've missed this. Missed you."

It's never been a question of wanting her. She smells so good. Is so soft where she's pressed against Hux. Still that frisson of energy where she kissed her. That echo of magic is what does it: the two of them, how right it felt, as it has always felt. "Yes. Okay. Fine. Yes," she blurts. "Behind the mausoleum."

Ren scrambles up; there's a crackle of spellwork; then everything _lurches_ as Hux is jerked upright and into her arms. She yelps and clutches Ren around the neck, alarmed at the abrupt movement. 

"Sorry, precious," Ren says, although the smirk in her voice is more than evident.

_"Don't call me that,"_ Hux hisses, kicking uselessly in irritation, unwilling to relinquish her hold, as Ren carries her to the mausoleum and into the topiary behind. "Arsehole."

She lays her out on the grass and moss. Almost tenderly. A witch light bobs above them, casting a cool blue glow over everything, paling the stone, the hedges, the remains of a bouquet tossed into the overgrowth. "Whatever you say." Ren smiles, leaning down to kiss her again, lightly. Deepening it as Hux responds, not caught off-guard this time.

She means to give as good as she gets, pushing back against Ren. Groans at the first hint of teeth scraping her lower lip, at her hands mapping the lines of her waist, her ribcage, pushing her cardigan down and off. Hux shrugs free of the sleeves and wraps both arms around Ren as she licks into her mouth, wet and a little sloppy, although Hux finds she can’t quite care. Doesn't object either, as Ren kisses down her neck, no doubt leaving smears of bright lipstick over her skin. 

"Look so good like this," she says, answering Hux's thought. Kissing lower, across her collarbone, pressing a perfect red imprint of both lips above Hux's left breast. "Just like this."

Hux snorts; she might as well have scribbled _property of Kylo Ren_ in looping calligraphy. She doesn't get much chance to nurse her indignation, however, not with Ren cupping her chest, not squeezing—Hux has never liked that—but rubbing her nipples through the gauzy fabric of her dress with both thumbs. 

"Forgot you got them pierced." She bows her head to nuzzle at her. "Fuck. I did always love your tits." They fit neatly in her hands; she pushes them together, admiring them.

"Crass," Hux mutters, hating the way her cheeks heat, the way she squirms when Ren slips a hand into her dress, the drag of her nails over sensitive skin, how she gently glides one barbell, then the other, back and forth. 

"You like it," she says, almost chastising, then flicks her. "Admit it."

Hux bites her lip against one squeak, and a second when she does it again. Can’t keep from shuddering. "_Ren_, all right, yes, I like it."

She tugs her neckline down, exposing her, but not touching her. Not yet. "You like that I'm crass."

It's not as easy as she would like to meet those autumn eyes, altogether too knowing. She can't even manage to roll her own, her voice not as dry as she wishes when she says: "Yes. I like that you're crass."

"Thank you, kitten," Ren tells her, then takes one nipple into her mouth. _Sucks_.

Hux arches upward into it, not bothering to smother a moan. It's too good, warm and wet, and Ren's tongue pushing her piercing back and forth. She fiddles with its mate on the right with her fingers, toying with it—carefully, not yanking, only sliding it between her thumb and index finger—while she lavishes attention on the left. Hux writhes, boots kicking in the wet grass, one hand finding Ren's hair. It's been a while, possibly too long, since anyone's touched her like this, and she's already aching under Ren's hands and mouth, needing more. Maybe she should have sought more. But the work is long and lonely, and she's begun to understand in recent years, why most people like them are solitary. So few would understand.

Ren pulls off her breast then and finds her lips again, kissing her almost bruising hard, something consuming about it, but that's fine, Hux decides. _Let her._ She'll take as much in return. Can. She wraps both legs around Ren, dragging her closer still, wishing she could grind against her properly.

"I've got you," Ren mumbles into the kiss. "Don't worry."

She's moving down the length of Hux's body then, and hiking her skirt up over her knees, then toward her waist. Pauses, taking her hand, and kisses that too, the palm and knuckles, before she settles between Hux's legs, spreading them wide. Doesn't hurry, to her consternation, instead kissing the insides of her thighs, peppering them until Hux can feel saliva cooling on her skin. Finally, finally, she moves to center, exhaling against her, a puff of humid air, and takes the edge of Hux's panties between her teeth. Pulls. Lets them snap back.

"_Ren_," she protests, although it's more whine than censure. 

She does the same on the other side, the elastic stinging.

"Ren, please."

She tilts her face up, studying Hux from between her splayed knees, one eyebrow quirked. "Please, what, precious?"

"Stop teasing me. _Please_." It's not begging, no, but her voice is softer, more plaintive than it's been in years, she who's accustomed to commanding the elements, reading the stars and all their mysteries and here Kylo Ren has reduced her to mewling—

Ren licks a long stripe over her clit through cotton, and Hux lets her head fall back with a moan. 

"Fuck," she whispers as she continues, at that drag and pressure of Ren's tongue. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Hux could get lost in it easily, and would, if not for the prickle of Ren's long nails on the delicate skin of her inner thigh. She flinches.

"Oh, sorry," Ren says. She shakes her hands, long nails vanishing with the gesture, short and neat and rounded when she's finished. She settles back between her legs, drags Hux's panties down to her ankles, and helps her pull her boots through. "There now."

She remembers those first few tentative explorations with Ren, both of them frightened of doing the wrong thing—_did that hurt, is this all right, do you, do you like it_—hands shaking as they undressed each other. Before Ren was Ren. There is something of her still in the way Ren eases her legs apart, her touch cautious as she traces Hux's clit with one finger, brushing the most sensitive part of her, almost tickling. Hux's hips twitch upward, seeking more contact, but Ren holds her steady with her other hand, not rushing. Rubs her gently with the ball of her thumb, her index and middle finger slipping lower, dipping into her. Doing no more than that at first, no matter how much Hux squirms, those two circling touches.

Then, without warning, all hesitation gone, she replaces her thumb with her mouth, licking at her, merciless. Hux jerks in her grip, moaning when Ren holds her still, swirling her tongue in arcs and spirals, pausing now and then to suck at her clit or kiss it, small butterfly kisses that make Hux shiver. And in counterpoint, those two fingers sink into her, where she's already wet. She can feel Ren smile against her as she crooks them, massaging her. Easing that ache, or chasing it, and Hux gives over to her, to Ren's mouth and touch, uncaring of the damp grass or the cold or the sprawl of silent graves around them. It feels too good; Ren feels good, and she knows she's babbling something to that effect when she comes the first time, _so good, Ren, thank you, thank you._

It's a long, almost languid orgasm, and she rides it out on Ren's fingers, crying out softly and trembling as she does. Her thighs quaking from the effort of keeping them open, the muscles tensed. And Ren—Ren keeps coaxing more from her, another shake and another ripple of pleasure, Hux gasping as she shifts and licks into her, tasting her more deeply, fucking her with her tongue until she comes again. And eventually: a third time, when she's nearly too tender for it.

She's vaguely aware of her own tears as Ren finally sits up and wipes her mouth and chin, looking pleased. Her make-up's a mess, and her hair is wild, and Hux knows she isn't any better off. She can't do much more than lean up on her elbows, to study Ren, feeling warm all over, even exposed, as she is, to the October air. 

Ren cradles her face, wiping the damp from her cheek as she pulls her in for a kiss, Hux's taste still sharp on her lips. And something else, much more biting. 

The aftertaste of a spell. 

Hux jerks upright. "Did you just use me for sex magic?" she demands, outraged. Not that she'd put anything past Ren, but—how dare she. 

Ren only gives her a lazy, self-satisfied smile in return. "No, kitten. I made you come three times straight, _and_ I happened to do some sex magic. As a bonus. You were so good for it, I couldn't resist.”

Hux lets out a small cry of indignation before she pushes Ren off her and onto her back, letting her momentum carry them both. She should, she knows, right her clothes and find her things and leave her here, this smug, underhanded—but she climbs more fully on top of Ren instead, glaring down at her. And Ren doesn't even have the good grace to look contrite, only smirks up her as though to ask, _well, now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me, precious?_

It's not a nice kiss, more teeth than lips, and is nonetheless more than she deserves. 

"I hate you," Hux mutters into it.

"I know," she says, annoyingly agreeable.

She kisses her a little more, letting Ren slow and gentle it as Hux fumbles for the zipper on the back of her dress. She peels the top down, showing the slick cusps of Ren's bra, oil-black and trimmed with lace. Of course. "You always dress like this now?" Hux asks, resisting the urge to hide her face between Ren's breasts and stay there. They invited that.

"Mm, usually," Ren says. She's stroking Hux's hair, absently. "You don't like it?"

The uncertainty—anxiety?—in her voice catches at Hux. "No, no, I do," she soothes. Kissing behind Ren's ear. "It's just different, that's all." She follows the edge of the lace with one finger. "May I?"

She nods, and Hux unhooks her bra, her mouth drying at the sight of Ren like this. She does rub her face against her, nosing at her cleavage, not minding her quiet laugh in response. Lets her hands drift down Ren's sides to her hips. Finds the slit in her skirt and warm skin under it.

"What—what do you want?" Hux asks. 

Ren traces her cheek. "Whatever you want to do to me," she says. 

And means it, Hux understands.

She swallows. Shifts, curling along her side, giving herself room to kiss her, mouth and long, white throat and every mole she can find and her bare shoulder and both pink areolae, and does, all of them, leaving mauve streaks where Ren had left carmine. Pausing here and there to suck the occasion bruise into soft skin. To bite. Slides her hand up Ren's thigh, feeling the power of the muscle there, and higher to—

"Honestly, Ren, no underwear?" Hux huffs.

"Easier without it, isn't it?" Ren accepts the chastising bite to her lower lip. 

Strange, that Hux remembers this well, how she likes to be touched, however long it's been and yet, easy enough to have Ren, capable witch as she is, nothing frail about her, body or magic, entirely at her mercy and whining for more. But Hux knows more tricks than she did back then. It's a simple, quick charm, murmured under her breath, one she's used on herself. She can tell when Ren feels it, another touch sliding into her, like a phantom hand, under Hux's control, filling her, warm. 

"Are you—_oh. Oh_," she says, eyes closing. “Hux."

“Is it—“ Hux asks, some of that old worry resurfacing. “Do you like it?”

“Fuck, yes. More. _More_. Please.”

It isn't so unlike earlier, sensing Ren's magic, offered so freely, and feeding it into to her own purposes, that power at her disposal, bent to her design. Like Ren herself, infinitely powerful, and somehow, at this moment, hers to do with what she will. She's rarely felt so aware of anyone, every part of her, and that want, need, most of all. Hux kisses her hard, her mouth and her jaw and, feeling proprietary, her temple. She nips at her breasts, enjoying her shiver. And more as she pumps her, rubs her, in tandem, until she's coming apart under her efforts, panting against her lips and groaning." Good girl," Hux says, and that wrings another moan from Ren, who twitches in her grip before she goes lax. _Good girl._

* * *

"Where did you learn that?" Ren asks after, still breathy, still wrapped in Hux's arms. 

"I didn't." She nuzzles at her hair, surprisingly content now. They'll move in a moment, get dressed, and go their separate ways, but she doesn't mind holding Ren like this. "It's something of my own invention," she admits. Coughs. "Needs must."

She laughs. Turns into her more fully, nose against Hux's throat. "You were always good at that. Coming up with new spells." She pauses, tracing the beadwork on Hux's dress. "You're a good witch, Hux. Really."

"I most certainly am not," Hux objects, releasing her and sitting back. She's worked in blood and called on the ravenous things in the dark. Doesn't deal in healing potions, cleansing charms. Just because she's sent the odd spirit or two to its rest. She glares at Ren. 

Ren pinches her. "That's not what I meant."

"Yes, well." She straightens her clothes, groping for her sweater and her bag. "You're a brilliant one. Always were."

That had been the crux of the problem, of course. Being jealous of Ren. Impossible not to be, that prodigious talent, all hers. And yet she was never content with it. If Hux had been born with that, with that family—well. She wouldn't need the Starkiller spell, for one thing.

Ren's watching her, eyes bright. Maybe wet. Or merely regretful that she's getting dressed.

Hux sighs. "You know you don't need him, right? Snoke." She shakes her head. "I don't care. Let him hear me. You don't. You never did." 

"It's not that simple. Not anymore." Ren's chin drops, her hair falling over her face. And that's more like the Ren she knew, sitting here half-naked and making sweeping proclamations and somehow vulnerable.

She reaches over, tucking a few curls behind her ear. "Hey," she says. "You're Kylo Ren. You can remake the world as you see fit, remember?"

Ren leans into the touch. Covers her hand with her own. "Pretty sure that was always you." 

Something stutters in Hux's chest at that. "Come on now, time to get dressed."

She obeys: refastens her bra and dress, finger-combs her hair into some semblance of order, pops her lips, lipstick suddenly as bright and neat as though it had been freshly applied. Fixes her nails with a waved hand. Before long, she and Hux are walking out of the cemetery under a rising Hunter's Moon. And never mind the dark and the night and whatever might be out there. With Ren, she feels—untouchable. The two of them the most dangerous things here. The gates open with a spoken word, at their bidding. _Everything_ at their bidding. 

Ren lingers while Hux unlocks her bike. "I meant what I said before," she says. "I miss you, Armie."

Hux startles, stopping. "You haven't called me that in years."

She can't reciprocate, even if she wanted to—Ren's old name is dead, its veins cut in most vicious sacrifice, and burned. The strongest magic couldn't bring it back.

"You didn't like it," Ren reminds her. Then, sulkily: "But you don't like anything I call you."

She sniffs. "Hux would suffice."

"Hey." She waves a hand. "I'm being serious."

"I'm not the one who ran off and joined the first ridiculous coven she found." She doesn't mean to snap. Doesn't mean to sound—_hurt_.

Ren's expression is as wounded. "You could have joined me." 

"No." She's better off as a solitary witch. Always has been. But Ren's still looking at her like that, not the put-on pout from earlier, but genuinely, with something like yearning. Hux relents slightly. "No one stays with the first girl she kissed, Ren," she tells her gently.

Ren glances up at the sky, at the first glints of starlight in that inky night. "I would have."

Neither of them speaks or moves, standing there in the moonlight. And it was always like this: a deadlock, a stalemate. Had never worked, and never would, Hux is certain.

But.

"I'll be at Potter's Field on Saturday," she offers, finally. Not quite grudging.

"Reading the stars?" 

She murmurs agreement. "If you happened to be there, maybe you could help." She holds up a warning hand, seeing Ren's teeth flash. "Starkiller is _mine_. Not for your minions or your master." 

"Okay, okay, yes. Relax," she concedes, smile undiminished. Before Hux can stop her, she swoops in for another kiss, hands clasping her waist, almost lifting her. Too easy to kiss her back, to cling to her in turn, if only for balance. "Saturday."

It will be a long bike ride back, Hux knows, maybe with regrets, although there is the vial in her bag and the magic singing through her, and the phantom sensation of Ren's mouth on hers. The stars alone know what her dreams have in store for her. She doubts she'll be lucky enough for quiet. Will draw the cards and throw the charred bones and read the spiderwebs in the morning. See what she finds there, the next steps. But for now, she sings a simple spell as the night deepens. An old one that she and Ren used to cast for each other when they parted. _Let the moon light your way home and back to me_.

**Author's Note:**

> About the tags: Hux and Ren are not nice witches. Their interactions are somewhat transactional in nature, given their antagonistic relationship, and their communication is not ideal. However, everyone is acting under their own will and desires. Ren is somewhat possessive and manipulative of Hux, especially in getting her to have sex, but Hux consents with full awareness and agency. Ren does perform sex magic without telling Hux or asking her permission, but Hux not directly affected or influenced by it (if aggravated). She also uses a spell more directly on Ren, but Ren has the opportunity to refuse it. The discussions of magic in the story are not reflective of any currently or historically practiced religion, i.e., this is a contemporary fantasy which includes magic.
> 
> —
> 
> ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/aroseofgalaxies))
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


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